Though they were much better than before, matters in the Fawcett household were still a little unsettled since the disastrous dinner party. Drystan had had a difficult time controlling his temper, but distance from the event had helped. Now, he was simply as eager to put the entirety of the affair behind them, and one more step to doing that was obviously something which was entirely out of his comfort level: a party, of course. A party from which departing early would be a physical impossibility. A party which required he dress up. A party for which he promised, at least to himself (so he could break it if he was really forced to, aka it was terrible), not to grouse and complain as he normally did.
Grousegrousegrouse.
Although, he had to admit, it wasn't quite as bad as he'd imagined. Likely, he had Bess (and her costume) to thank for him not wanting to hurl himself onto the tracks quite yet, but he almost dared to say the night would end in fun.
"I don't understand how you're not freezing," Drystan said, shaking his head. There was no shortage of bodies milling about the carriages, but even swathed in
fabrics as he was, he was barely feeling toasty. He reached down and flicked the jangles on her hip, cocking his head to the side. "Not that I'm not enjoying the view immensely, of course."
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